Page 89 of Heir of Broken Souls

“It’s nothing,” he spits through clenched teeth, his eyes as hard as stone until they land on Elysia. The sight chips away a piece of his armor, and he looks over at Axel. “What’s wrong with her? Is it dark magic?”

“I don’t know.” Axel bristles before turning to me. “Tell me what you saw,” he growls.

Harlow gasps, finally noticing why we’re here.

“Can you feel her?” I ask Axel tentatively—softly.

The words hold such a weight, such a memory that makes the air in the room fill with tension. It’s not fair to ask him, just like we did the night Ace was brutally murdered.

Axel clutches his chest as if he can yank the bond out of his body and show the evidence to us. “Yes, it just doesn’t feel right.”

“How so?”

“I-it’s—” He flushes. “It’s taut and pulling. Like she’s holding on.”

“Can you pull her back?” Delilah asks gently.

The divots in his skin deepen and he shakes his head, exhaling on a harsh breath, “No.”

My gaze slides to Lenox as he steps forward, leaving a puddle of water in his wake.

“Why are you wet?” Delilah suddenly asks.

“Not important.”

“He was trying to drown himself,” Harlow flings out.

My head whips to my now second, to the man I spent seven years searching for to save him. The best friend I will never give up on. “You werewhat?” I bellow, the sound as sudden and sharp as my fear.

Lenox rolls his eyes. “This is not the time, and no, I was not trying to drown myself.”

“I saw you fling yourself off the top deck?—”

“It’s called a dive?—”

“It’s called suicide!”

“Guys—” Axel tries to speak.

Lenox grits his teeth. “Stop insinuating that!”

“I think she’s waking up?—”

A sharp inhale of breath fills the room, silencing everyone in their wake. Elysia jolts forward, her gaze darting around in a frenzy.

Delilah and Harlow rush toward the bed, speaking over one another.

“Elysia, are you okay?—”

“What happened? Do you remember anything?”

“Do you feel okay?”

“Was it a vision?”

Axel hovers beside the bed, his eyes wide and wild as he drinks in the sight of Elysia. Cataloging every minuscule detail to memory.

“There’s a storm coming,” Elysia declares.